Farewell
by Krystiana
Summary: Mirai Trunks introspective.


Farewell  
by Kristina Brannan   
aka Krystiana Slinky  
kbrannan@raex.com  
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Dragon Ball and all related characters belong to Toriyama Akira, not me.   
Characters used without permission. This is a non-profit story, so please   
don't sue me. :)  
  
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A million times.  
A million times I've thought about the same thing. Or something similiar to the   
same thing, at least.   
What if the time machine had screwed up? What if I hadn't been able to   
become stronger during my visit to the past?  
What if there were no such thing as Dragon Balls... and I had stayed dead?  
I close my eyes. There is no need for such thoughts. Not anymore.   
"Trunks-chan?"  
My mother. I open my eyes and turn my head towards her, acknowleding her   
presence.  
"Are you feeling all right? You've been up here most of the day." Her face   
clearly shows her concern.  
I take a quick glance around. True, I have spent most of my day up here, in   
the quiet attic. Possibly the only place with dust in all of Capsule Corps. "I'm fine,   
kaasan. I just need to think," I say calmly.  
"May I ask about what?" she inquiries.  
I sigh and look away from her. "My same questions."  
"Trunks..." my mother begins, starting to walk towards me. "You know there is   
no point in asking questions about what could have happened." I look up at her from   
my place on the ground. "One, the time machine didn't screw up, did it? I made it - it   
wouldn't of in the first place." I can't help but smile. Even after all we had been through,  
her pride and sense of humor have stayed mostly in tact. "Two, you did become   
stronger. You came back alive, didn't you?" I freeze, and look away quickly.  
I never told her of my death.  
I didn't know how she would react to knowing that her only son - her only family   
left - had died. But I had wanted to tell her, in a way. From what Yamucha-san had   
told me, Vegiita - my unfeeling father - had lost his temper when Cell killed me.   
Otousan charged at Cell on MY behalf...  
"Trunks-chan?"  
I close my eyes again. "Kaasan-"  
"You want to be alone," my mother finished. "I've heard it before." She comes  
and sits down beside me. "Tell me what's on your mind."  
I look at her. "Okaasan..." Suddenly chilled, I put my head on her shoulder and   
curl up against her, like I used to when I was small. She puts her arms around me and  
holds on tight for a long while. Finally, she speaks again.  
"Trunks - please tell me what's bothering you." She looks into my eyes. "I'm your   
mother."  
"I know, okaasan." I choose my words carefully, and after a moment, I speak   
again. "Did otousan love us?"  
My mother is startled, but she doesn't show it. "I never could clearly tell, Trunks...   
but I think he did. If he really hadn't cared, would he have sacrificed himself against   
the cyborgs?"  
I decide not to mention that otousan nearly killed himself fighting the cyborgs  
in the other timeline, just to suit his own pride. "So you really think he loved us... in   
this timeline?"  
"This timeli... Trunks, what on Chikyuu is running through your head?"  
I put my head down. "The Vegiita in the past was cold on the outside, and   
colder on the inside. I didn't think there was an ounce of compassion in him." I pause  
and look at her. "But something happened while we were fighting Cell."  
My mother looks straight at me. "Trunks, what do you mean?"  
I can't help but smile. "Vegiita... otousan - he threw himself at Cell when I was...  
injured."  
"What?!" My mother exclaims. "Vegiita fought for someone else's benefit beside   
his own?" She blinks and then scoffs. "You sure it just wasn't because he wanted to  
make sure you were fit enough to fight him later?"  
I frown. "I wasn't... in shape to fight."  
My mother stares at me. "What are you getting at? Say it clearly."  
I don't answer for a minute, then I pull away and walk slightly away from her,   
my back turned to her. "Okaasan... I died. Cell killed me. Otousan went after him for   
revenge." I wince, anticipating a screaming session.  
When I don't hear anything, I turn back around to spy my mother looking at   
me with her mouth open in horror. She brings a shaking hand to her face and finally   
lets out a sob.   
"Okaasan-" I run back over to her and hug her, and she begins crying on my   
shoulder.  
"Oh, Kami... Trunks - why the hell didn't you TELL me?!" she screams at me   
after a minute. "My only son DIED! And you didn't tell me!"  
"And just what did you expect me to say?" I snarl back at her, and I can see   
slight shock through her tears. "'Hi, kaasan, I'm back from my trip to the past. It was   
great, apart from getting killed by Cell, but, HEY! No biggie!'"  
"I don't need sarcasm, Trunks," my mother says. "You should have told me,   
either way."  
"And how was I SUPPOSED to tell you?" I repeat.   
"I don't KNOW!" We are both silent for a few minutes before she finally says   
something. "I lost your father, Trunks. You are not only the one part of him I have   
left, but you are a part of me, too. I lose you, I lose a part of myself."  
Funny. I've heard that speech before - in books, in movies, in shows... but it   
sounds more emotional when directed at you. More real.  
My mother breathes in deeply. "Trunks... come with me."  
  
* * *  
  
I look at my feet, my eyes unbelieving. "Why are we here, kaasan? Why didn't   
you tell me you had put markers up?"  
"Same reason as you not telling me of your death, I suppose," my mother says.   
"I didn't see the need."  
Graves. My mother had buried each and every one of her friends. Our friends.   
I had helped her bury Gohan-san here, but then there had been no markers for each   
of their graves. They had simply been blank - no names attached to the bodies below   
the surface...  
A lump has caught in my throat. "Gokou-san... Kulilin-san..." I pause, biting my   
lip. "Otousan." I kneel at this grave, touching the grave marker with the tips of my   
fingers, tracing his name.   
It was strange, seeing your father's aging grave, when you only spoke to him   
a few simple weeks ago.  
I close my eyes. "Otousan," I whisper again. A breeze rushes past me, and my   
eyes spring open.   
That wind had been WARM. And was it my imagination, or did it say something...  
"Trunks?" I look over at my mother. "Can we leave? I can't handle this."  
"Hai, kaasan," I say, turning away from my father's grave, glancing back once.  
As we walk away from our friend's graves, a breeze rushes by me again. This   
time I know it isn't my imagination. The wind had spoken to me.   
  
"Farewell, my son..."  
  
END 


End file.
